


tell me a line

by darkcity



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25044232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcity/pseuds/darkcity
Summary: Post-6/10 Dynamite. Chuck patches Orange up. Orange may or may not have a concussion.
Relationships: Orange Cassidy/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	tell me a line

**Author's Note:**

> yeah this is 3 weeks late but the boys deserve some fluff right now

“Fucking dickheads, gonna kill them _literally_. Fuck the tag titles, I don’t even care, fucking _bleeding_? What the hell.”

Chuck gets consumed by his angry ranting, when he should probably be getting cleared by the medical team, after all the hits he took from Jericho’s baseball bat. But once they OK'd Orange he pretty much ignored everyone else, taking Orange away, nicking some cotton swabs and band-aids and gauze and a bunch of other stuff he almost definitely doesn't need. He was just following his instincts; it made perfect sense at the time to grab everything he saw, but now he feels a little silly with a jar of popsicle sticks sitting next to him.

But patching Orange up is the least he can do, after watching the guy get the shit beaten out of him and not doing a single thing to stop it. Yeah, Chuck was hurting all over too and couldn’t actually stand up, but what difference does that make to Orange’s cuts and bruises and the blood pouring out of his face? Watching out for Orange is his responsibility, and he didn’t do that tonight.

Not that Orange has ever asked for his help, but why would he? Chuck would probably make fun of him if he did, being all needy like that. The same way Orange would make fun of Chuck if he ever admitted how protective he feels over him.

He wets another cotton ball with rubbing alcohol, wiping it lightly over one of the cuts on Orange’s chest, and hopes the other man will accept this as some small form of apology. Because he doesn’t really know how else to say sorry. And looking at his friend all bruised and bloody is putting this fucked up feeling in his chest that he doesn’t know how to get rid of, except to rant about the douchebags that caused this and hopefully punch their lights out as soon as possible.

“I just don’t fuckin’ get it, _no one_ could stop them?" he continues, "I mean, I was out, Trent was out, but there are like 100 other dudes around, and what, they all had something better to do? Just let those assholes—”

“Chuck…” 

Orange’s quiet voice breaks him out of his angry haze, and he shifts from pissed off to concerned pretty quick. 

“Yeah, what’s up, man? You good?” he asks. 

Orange takes a few seconds to respond, scanning Chuck’s face before meeting his eyes.

“...I like you,” he finally murmurs.

Okay, weird.

Chuck waits for the punchline, _I like you but shut the fuck up_. Or maybe the accusation, _I like you but why did you let that happen?_ Nothing comes, though, and Orange just holds his gaze through the silence, apparently waiting for a response. 

“Do you _like_ like me?” is all he can come up with. It’s dumb as hell, but not as bad as he expected, and he forces out a little awkward laugh to go along with his weak joke.

“Yeah,” Orange replies evenly. 

Which he was not supposed to do. He was supposed to return Chuck’s fake laugh, or finish his joke, or add some qualifier about how Chuck is babying him way too much right now. Chuck was prepared for that — he wasn’t prepared for _yeah_ , or the unusually sincere tone in Orange’s voice accompanying the unusually sincere look in his eyes.

He looks so expectant and open, Chuck just can’t find it in himself to laugh in his face. Which he really wants to do, because it’s a joke, right? It’s obviously a joke. Chuck doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t get a lot of Orange’s jokes. The guy’s got a weird sense of humor. And it’s probably even weirder now that he’s had the blood knocked out of his head.

...Which actually kind of explains it all. Maybe Orange _is_ serious, or thinks he’s serious, but his vision’s fucked up and he thinks there’s a chick in the room with him instead of Chuck. Or maybe his grasp of language is dicey and he doesn’t remember what ‘ _like_ like’ means from back in middle school.

“I think you got a concussion, bud,” Chuck tells him, shaking his head.

“Maybe…” Orange mumbles. Chuck hums and tries not to sigh with relief too loudly. “Still like you,” Orange finishes, so quiet Chuck would miss it if his attention wasn’t so narrowly fixed.

Chuck swallows, uncomfortably loud in the heavy silence of the room, and tries not to look as terrified as he feels. He wants to ask what Orange means, whether he’s thinking clearly, whether he’s had this thought before, and how the hell he's supposed to respond.

“Shut up, dude,” he says, instead. 

He gets a little half-smile in return, and he has no idea what that means.

Orange slowly lifts a hand, reaching towards him, and Chuck has to fight the instinct to violently jerk away. That would probably be kinda mean. And considering how battered the guy is already, he doesn’t really wanna risk hurting him any more.

His hand lands in Chuck's hair, stroking through it lightly, and his eyes look unnervingly vulnerable, so Chuck just lets him. It makes him feel fucked up, honestly, almost nauseous, but not like when he’s hungover. It’s like he’s disoriented, and desperately needs some relief but doesn’t know what it would be or how to get it.

Orange’s face keeps getting closer to his, which is confusing and scary in equal parts. It takes a few seconds for Chuck to realize he's not actually being pulled in; this thing that’s happening is all him. But, well, Orange hasn’t stopped him. 

So he can still act like it’s all Orange's idea when he makes the most short-sighted decision of his life and presses their lips together.

He can’t really stop himself. And Orange responds instantly, which is kinda hard to tell because of course he’s the world’s laziest kisser in addition to being the world’s laziest everything else. But Orange's hand is definitely tightening in his hair, so he's pretty sure this is okay.

He’d like to say it feels nice, but it feels more like hurling himself off a cliff. So, pretty much the least romantic kiss ever. There’s even blood involved, which he can taste on Orange’s lips but doesn’t mind somehow, except that it obscures Orange’s own taste. 

Orange parts his lips and sighs, and Chuck is tempted to deepen the kiss, _really_ tempted, but he forces himself to keep it light. Because Orange still seems incredibly fragile to him right now, and the most contact he’s willing to give besides the light contact of lips is his hand resting gently on his shoulder, scared to press into a bruise or cut. 

He feels fucked up enough as is, anyway, his head throbbing and his chest gone weirdly light. Whatever's happening, he’s clearly already screwed, and he doesn’t need to add the feeling of Orange’s tongue to the clusterfuck of thoughts rattling around in his head.

Hopefully Orange is messed up enough — which is pretty fucked up to think, but hey, it’s a fucked up day — that he won’t remember this. And if not, well, then that means he was serious, and this is serious, and he… 

Actually, Chuck doesn’t really wanna reflect on that possibility too much.

He pulls back but stays close, his eyes still closed. He can feel Orange’s breath on his lips, and the few seconds it takes to distance himself feel closer to an hour. 

Eventually, he opens his eyes, but still can’t bring himself to let them meet Orange’s. Instead, he lets his gaze shift to the bandages nearby and grabs one, clearing his throat and getting back to work like nothing’s happened.

He dives right back into his angry muttering as he fixes Orange up, and when he feels brave enough, manages to meet Orange’s eyes again. Orange is still just looking straight at him — the dude is relentless — with a tiny smirk pulling at his lips. It would be imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t so close, and probably anyone but Chuck, for that matter.

“What?” Chuck asks petulantly. Orange doesn’t respond, but his eyes light up in an obnoxiously amused way Chuck refuses to think of as _cute_. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well…” he starts weakly. “Continue not saying anything, asshole.” He winces at himself, but then looks back up at Orange and can’t help but sigh, defeated. “I like you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://jcryder.tumblr.com/)


End file.
